by Lynn Austin
“Because …Do it for …for Ted.”
“What?” Phoebe’s eyes flew open. She stared at the woman in surprise.
“You keep asking for Ted. I thought maybe he was someone special to you. I hoped that you might want to get well for his sake.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phoebe lied.
“Well, is there someone else we can write a letter to? Someone you’d like to have come and take care of you? Maybe bring you something special from home?”
She shook her head. “Let me die. It don’t matter. Nobody will care.”
“I don’t believe you, Phoebe. There must be somebody.”
The nurse was young and very pretty. She made Phoebe feel uglier than ever. Even the woman’s name, Julia, was pretty. Phoebe wished she would go away.
“Well, there ain’t nobody who cares, and that’s the truth.” She closed her eyes, longing to die so the terrible pain would stop.
“God cares,” Julia said softly. She stroked Phoebe’s forehead, brushing back her hair. “God loves you.”
Phoebe didn’t believe it. If God cared one whit about her, He wouldn’t have made her so homely. And He would have given her at least one person in the whole wide world who loved her.
“God don’t care about me, either,” she told Julia.
The nurse closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lip. When she opened them again she said, “Let me ask you something. Suppose someone had been willing to die for you? Suppose he had thrown himself between you and that artillery shell and had taken this wound in your place so that you could live—even if it meant he would die. That would prove that the person loved you, wouldn’t it?”
That was exactly what Phoebe had done. She had thrown herself on top of Ted, getting wounded in his place so that he would live. That must mean that she loved him. Phoebe Bigelow was in love with Ted Wilson. She admitted the truth for the first time. But then, she’d never loved anyone before and hadn’t any idea what it felt like. Was it love when you wanted to be with someone all the time and you felt lost and empty when they weren’t by your side? Did it mean savoring the way they moved and laughed and frowned—and staying awake at night just to watch their face while they slept? Was that love? Was it wanting so much for the other person to live that you would gladly suffer and die in their place?
Tears rolled down Phoebe’s face. She couldn’t wipe them away. Her injured arm wouldn’t move, and she was lying on the other one. Julia wiped the tears away for her.
“That’s what Jesus did,” Julia said. “He gave his life, dying in your place, so you could live.”
Phoebe knew the Easter story—how the Son of God had been crucified on a cross. But it had never made sense to her before. She hadn’t known what it meant to love someone so much that you would die for him. Maybe this explained the words she had been wondering about: “For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”
“Jesus isn’t the only one who loves you,” Julia said. “God allowed His Son to leave heaven and come down to earth. He gave up His only Son so that we could live. That’s how much God loves you.”
Phoebe thought of Ted’s grandmother, how she had loved her daughter so much she had let her go so that future children could be free. Phoebe had wished that someone would love her that much.
“If you died for someone else, Phoebe, wouldn’t you want that person to live? Wouldn’t you want your sacrifice to have meaning?”
Phoebe closed her eyes and saw Ted’s face. He had lived. She had saved him because she had wanted him to live.
“God cares if you die,” Julia said. She lifted Phoebe’s head a little and held the spoon to her lips. “Please, won’t you try to eat some of this food?”
Phoebe finally opened her mouth and ate.
Chapter Seventeen
Washington City
December 1862
Julia tried to ignore the letter on her dresser as she hurriedly pinned up her hair for work, but it nagged at her. It had arrived two days ago, and though she usually answered her mail promptly, she hadn’t answered this one yet. Her mother had written most of it, but she had attached pleading notes from Julia’s father, her sister, Rosalie, her aunt Eunice, and even Robert’s parents. All of them begged her to come home to Philadelphia for Christmas.
The truth was, Julia was desperately homesick when she wasn’t working at the hospital. She couldn’t bear the thought of spending Christmas alone in the bleak boardinghouse, eating stringy roast beef far away from her family. But she feared going home for two reasons. The first was that her father would probably never allow her to return toWashington. Julia knew that once she was home she would be drawn back to her old way of life as if wading into a powerful current, and she wouldn’t be able to—wouldn’t want to—escape its pull. Especially if Nathaniel Greene was still interested in courting her. At the same time, she felt guilty because the only reason she had wanted to become a nurse was to win a man’s heart—and now that she’d won it she was content to quit. Worse, Nathaniel thought her sacrifice had been selfless. He didn’t know her true motives.
The other reason she hesitated to leave was because of her patient, Phoebe Bigelow. Julia had brought her back from Sharpsburg to convalesce in Fairfield Hospital, and it still wasn’t clear if she would live or die. Besides struggling to recover from her wound, Phoebe was also gravely ill with blood poisoning and pneumonia, as were many of the other soldiers wounded in the battle.
Dr. McGrath had ordered a partition of curtains made around Phoebe’s bed, which had been placed in a corner of the downstairs ward beside the cabinet of medical supplies. She could still have her privacy, yet the doctor hoped it would cheer her to be with other people. Instead, Phoebe barely spoke to anyone. She seemed deeply depressed. The only person who could coax her to eat was Julia. What would happen to Phoebe if Julia went home to Philadelphia?
“I’ll answer you tonight,” Julia said aloud, patting the letter as if soothing a baby. She would see if Phoebe felt any better—and perhaps convince her to accept Mrs. Fowle’s care in her place.
Julia put on her coat and bonnet and hurried down the stairs, always with the same thought at this time of day—how long would she have to stand in the wind and cold this morning before finding a carriage? The winter had been an unusually cold one, and snow had already fallen. But when she opened the door, she saw Congressman Rhodes’ carriage waiting by the front walk.
“Good morning, Miss Hoffman,” he called. “May I offer you a ride?” The congressman stuck his head out of the carriage window, smiling broadly.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said as she climbed in beside him. But she knew why he had come before he said a single word. “You are taking me to the hospital, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I’ll take you wherever you wish to go …but I sincerely hope you will let me take you home to Philadelphia at the end of the week. That’s when Mrs. Rhodes and I are leaving.”
“Let me guess—my parents wrote and asked you to convince me, didn’t they?”
“Dear girl, they have buried me in correspondence. I won’t be able to face the judge if I come home without you. So I decided I would accompany you to the hospital this morning and plead with your acting surgeon myself to grant you a leave for the holiday.”
“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. I know he’ll grant me a leave if I ask for one.”
“Then I gather that you haven’t asked,” Rhodes said quietly.
“Not yet. We’ve been overwhelmed these past months coping with all the soldiers who were wounded at Antietam.”
“A dreadful waste,” Rhodes said with a sigh. “They’re estimating our final toll at more than twelve thousand casualties. Can you imagine that? Still, we drove the Rebels to their knees. Why on earth General McClellan didn’t follow up his victory and put an end to Lee is beyond me. Well, it’s beyond everyone! Let’s hope Ambrose Burnside will get the job done. He’s a rather ridiculous-looking fell
ow with all that absurd facial hair, but he’s a better general than McClellan was. At least Burnside has the army marching toward Richmond again. Hopefully this will be the last battle we’ll have to fight. I think the war will end very soon, before the year is over. Heaven knows I’m certainly tired of it.”
“How far are they from Richmond?” Julia asked, thinking of her cousin Caroline.
“They’re in Fredericksburg. It’s about halfway between Washington and Richmond. And it looks as though there might be a battle there shortly. The Confederates are marshalling their troops— but we have to cross the Rappahannock River first. The blasted Rebels burned all the bridges, of course. We’ll have to construct pontoon bridges. Nasty inconvenience.”
Julia allowed the congressman to ramble on about the war as they drove, grateful for the change of topic. But when they finally arrived at the hospital, he quickly returned to his reason for seeing her.
“My dear,” he said, taking her hands, “won’t you—” He stopped abruptly and looked down. “What have you been doing with these hands, Julia? My scrubwoman’s hands are softer than these.”
“I know.” She tried to free herself, but he wouldn’t let go. His eyes searched hers.
“If you’re doing penance for Bull Run, you’ve already atoned for—”
“It isn’t that,” she said quickly. “I enjoy my work, in spite of what my hands look like.”
“Promise me you’ll come home with us this Friday,” he begged. “I’ll purchase the tickets today.”
Julia didn’t see any way out of it. She was afraid he would come inside the hospital and make a scene if she refused. “All right,” she said. “I promise.” The moment she made the decision, Julia felt immediately relieved. She was going home.
“Oh, and Julia,” Rhodes added as she climbed from the carriage, “when you greet your parents, wear gloves.”
Julia hurried inside, nearly tripping over a pile of letters that the mailman had deposited inside the front door. She scooped them up and set them on Dr. McGrath’s desk while she hung up her coat and bonnet. His office was empty. Most of the letters were for the soldiers, and she took a moment to sort through them, separating the ones for the patients on second floor from the ones downstairs. In the middle of the pile, she found a letter for James.
The stationery was cream vellum. A feminine hand had written in dark ink, Dr. James J. McGrath. The return address read Mrs. James McGrath, Whitney Avenue, New Haven, Connecticut. Julia laid the letter on his desk.
She carried the rest of the mail into the downstairs ward and saw the doctor standing beside a patient’s bed. Just as she entered, James threw back his head and laughed, then rested his hand on the man’s shoulder for a moment.
“No, I hadn’t heard that one before, Hamilton. That’s a good one.” His laughter was a very rare sound. The only time she ever heard it was when he joked with his patients. She liked being with him then, making the rounds, working alongside him.
Julia carried the letters over to one of the volunteers. “Good morning, Mrs. Gardner. The morning mail just came. Would you please help me pass it out?”
“I’d be glad to.” Mrs. Gardner was one of several women at the hospital who had come toWashington after learning that their loved ones had been wounded. But like all the other mothers and wives and sisters, she helped tend to the needs of all the men, not just her own. Julia gave Mrs. Gardner half the letters to distribute and was about to take the rest upstairs when the doctor called her over. He was going to see Phoebe next.
“Were there any letters for Miss Bigelow?” he asked.
“No. I asked her several times if she wanted me to write to anyone for her, and she said there was no one to write to. She has three brothers in the army, but she doesn’t know where they are.”
“Find out their names. I’ll see what I can do.”
He motioned for Julia to follow him as he ducked behind the bed curtains. Phoebe had fallen asleep reading the small, badly wrinkled Bible Julia had found in her uniform pocket. She had offered to give her one in better condition, but Phoebe had refused. She read the book every day as if it were a letter from home.
The doctor bent over the bed and rested his hand on Phoebe’s forehead for a moment. Julia had seen him do it countless times with his other patients, and she was always struck by the tenderness of the gesture, as if he longed to impart healing through his touch. She liked this man very much and didn’t feel at all afraid of him. But every time he walked out of the ward and returned to his office he became that other, disagreeable man.
He listened with his stethoscope, then exhaled. “I want you to start giving her quinine. I think there may be more than one cause for her fever.”
“Yes, Doctor. Should I wake her now and give it to her?”
“Let her sleep.”
When he turned to his next patient, Julia hurried upstairs. The men were always overjoyed to receive mail—and she made sure to spend a few extra minutes with the ones who didn’t.
Julia daydreamed of home all morning as she worked, planning what she would wear on the journey and which Philadelphia stores she would shop in for Christmas presents. She couldn’t help thinking about Nathaniel, wondering if he would ask her to the Music Society’s Christmas Ball, dreaming of what it would be like to dance with him. She imagined herself in a new ball gown, whirling around the floor in his arms, gazing up into his handsome face. Maybe on the carriage ride home Nathaniel would lean close to her and steal a kiss and it would be as wonderful as she’d dreamed a kiss would be.
“You sure look happy today, Mrs. Hoffman,” one of her patients commented.
“Yes, Private Carter, I guess I am.”
At noon she went downstairs to make sure Phoebe ate some lunch. Julia found her propped up in bed, awkwardly eating a bowl of soup with her left hand. Doctor McGrath had immobilized her right arm in a sling while her shoulder healed.
“Are you doing okay, Phoebe?” she asked.
“Thought I’d save you the bother of fussing with me.”
“It’s no bother.” But at least Julia knew Phoebe wouldn’t starve if she went home to Philadelphia. And Phoebe seemed a little stronger today. When she finished the soup, Julia gave her some quinine and then coaxed her into talking about her brothers.
“Junior’s the oldest,” Phoebe began.
“Is that his real name or a nickname?”
“I guess he’s called Curtis, after Pa. The other two are named Willard and Jack.”
“Do you know where they went to enlist?”
“They said they was going to Cincinnati, but I don’t know for sure. Why are you asking about them?”
“Wouldn’t you like to write to them and find out how they’re doing?”
Phoebe’s face went rigid. “Junior will be mad when he finds out I left home.”
“Where is home, Phoebe?”
She slowly slid down in bed until she was lying on her side, then closed her eyes. “Ain’t none of your business.”
The encounter unsettled Julia. Phoebe obviously had her secrets—but then, so did she. All that afternoon, whenever Julia tried to imagine herself with Nathaniel Greene, she now felt a growing sense of unease. Should she allow him to go on thinking she was selfless and compassionate? Or should she tell him the truth about her true motivation and about the lies she’d told in order to become a nurse? By the end of the day, Julia still hadn’t decided.
But she had made up her mind to tell Dr. McGrath that she would be returning to Philadelphia at the end of the week. She went to his office in the front hallway to speak with him and met up with a uniformed army officer who was just leaving.
“Very good, James,” the man said, shaking the doctor’s hand. “I’ll see you in Fredericksburg.” He tipped his hat to Julia as he went out the door. “Ma’am…”
Dr. McGrath was needed in the field again. That meant they would also need nurses. Julia suddenly decided that she would go to Fredericksburg, too. The congressman
had said it would be the last battle of the war. This would probably be the last chance she had to serve on the battlefield before returning to her former life in Philadelphia. She would go, not to impress anyone this time, but out of compassion. She would serve God one last time.
Her mind made up, Julia walked into Dr. McGrath’s office. “I’m going to Fredericksburg, too,” she told him.
“Why should I care what you do?” He sat behind his desk, shuffling through papers. He didn’t look up. “I know better than to try and stop you,” he added.
“The Sanitary Commission always needs volunteers,” she said. “They’ll be happy to have me. But I thought since we’re used to working with each other that I would save you the trouble of training a new nurse. I know you have your own way of doing things. And you know how well we work together.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t suppose you would like to tell me why you’re going?”
“For the same reasons that you are. I want to help.”
He leaned forward again, studying her carefully. “And you aren’t afraid?” he asked quietly.
Julia didn’t know which he meant—was she afraid of the battle or of him?
“No,” she said. But she was a little afraid …of both.
He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. “You don’t have much time to pack, Mrs. Hoffman. The ship I’m taking to Aquia Landing leaves Alexandria tomorrow morning at five o’clock.”
“I’ll be there,” she said.
Fredericksburg, Virginia
December 1862
Julia and James were among the dozens of doctors and nurses who boarded the Mary Jane the next morning to sail forty miles down the Potomac to Aquia Landing. From there it was a much shorter trip by train to Falmouth on the north bank of the Rappahannock. Across the river lay the city of Fredericksburg. Julia saw the city in the fading light that first evening, a sleepy cluster of houses and brick buildings with graceful church steeples pointing to the sky. Stone piers on each bank of the river and one in its center marked the place where a railroad bridge had once stood. Before dawn, Julia was told, army engineers would begin constructing pontoon bridges across the water so the assault could begin.